


If You Wanna Be My Lover

by PastelWonder



Series: Return To Me [6]
Category: Blitz (2011), Spy (2015)
Genre: A pinch of Dom, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:06:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom's got just one question for Susan, but will he want to hear her answer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gadhar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/gifts).



> As noted in the additional tags, there is a sprinkle of Dom in this fic. Consider yourself informed, ok?
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day to all my beautiful friends. I hope yours is fabulous :)

He woke up, flinching and inhaling sharply through his nose, to the muffled sound of yapping and the smell of something cooking. Something sweet. 

Yawning, he reached for her, hand skimming the blankets and finding nothing underneath. 

He felt pinch in the center of his chest.

_ She’s gone. _

Fumbling for the nightstand, he scrubbed his hand over his face and squinted to make out clock on his mobile.

Two-thirty.

_ Shit. _

“Susan?” he croaked.

He listened for her, straining to hear over all that yip-yip-yipping.

_ Where the fuck is the dog? _

His complex didn’t allow pets, and no one in their right mind would walk a lapdog in South London at this time of night. 

“Susan?” he gruffed again, louder. Nothing.

_ Maybe she’s gone out for a drive. _

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he grunted, throwing back the duvet and groaning as he dragged himself out of bed. Rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand, he noticed the light bordering his closed bedroom door. 

She’s in the kitchen.

The sweet smell was stronger as he stepped out into the living room, blinking rapidly and shading his eyes against the bright light as he tried to make her out. The soft, pitched barking seemed to be coming from the breakfast counter.

“A material- a material world… live-ing in a mat-er-ial world mat-er-iah-ah-al…”

She’s there, bopping about in her panties and a thin strapped top, singing under her breath along with the music.

Music. It wasn’t not a dog, it was the eighties American pop shit she likes. 

He stumbled towards the breakfast counter, calling, “Susan.”

She jumped, wheeling around with her hand on her chest as she gasped, “Jiminy Christmas, Tom!”

“What you doin’?” he rasped, flinching in the yellow-bright light. He hawked to clear his throat, ignoring the buzz starting between his eyes under the glaring kitchen lamp.

“Wha-I- did I wake you up?” She laid something down on the counter - like a butter knife, with a bend in it - and crossed the kitchen. 

“I’m so sorry,” she soothed, smoothing her hands up his chest and rubbing his shoulders. He squinted over her head to see what she was up to.

There was a half-iced cake on the counter; he counted four layers, and something was boiling merrily away on the stove.

“Whassit?” he asked hoarsely.

“Hm? Oh, that-” she glanced over her shoulder at the cake. Her hot little hands kneaded firmly into the knots in his shoulders. “That’s just- I was baking.”

She was so fucking soft as he relaxed into her, grunting, “At ‘alf-two?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and I- oh popsicle sticks, the ganache!” 

He swayed, a little off-balance as she suddenly turned and bustled briskly back to the stove. She fished a whisk out of the utensil container and beat something vigorously in a glass bowl over the steaming pot. 

“Don’t mind me, ok?” she called pleasantly, sparing him a glance and a dimple as she tipped a little carton of milk or something like it over the bowl and doubled her efforts, whisking expertly. “I’ll turn the music off.”

And with that, she lifted the bowl with hot mitts and set it on the counter beside her cake. Plucking up her strange bent knife, she turned her back to him.

He snorted, blinking dumbly at her.

She’d dismissed him.

The buzz spread out to his temples, pulsing behind his eyes as he shuffled up behind her. He made an appreciative sound as her warm, generous ass pressed against the front of his boxers and the tops of his bare thighs. Reaching a long arm around her, he made a clumsy swipe with his finger through the icing.

“Stahp,” she huffed, glancing up at him with a frown as he popped it into his mouth.

“S’good,” he smirked lazily, eyelids drooping as he dipped his head to press a wet open-mouthed kiss to her neck. He missed, catching the top of her shoulder instead, and took the opportunity to hook his fingers under her strap and slip it down her arm. 

“Fuck,” he breathed against her skin as her top rolled down her breast. He kissed her again, watching through hooded eyes as her large pink nipple popped out above her neckline.

“I mean it,” she whined, trying to press her ear to her shoulder and wriggle out of his arms as he reached around to cup her tits. “I need to finish this-”

He closed his eyes, losing himself in the feeling of her moving against him and her tits in his hands as he rolled and squeezed them. He cracked his eyes open again in time to see her scoop up a bit of icing with her knife and apply it to a bare patch on the cake, spreading it deftly as she turned the plate. 

“Ain’t got legs,” he slurred.

“The icing will harden,” she said like,  _ Duh.  _

Speaking of hardening…

He ground his cock into the crack of her ass, watching over her shoulder as her knife dipped into the icing and twirled around the cake. There was something a little hypnotic about the motion, and the smell of chocolate and the warmth from the oven and from her big, soft body tucked up against his.

“Come tah bed,” he murmured hotly in her ear, already picturing the slick slide of his cock in her tight, wet cunt as she moaned for him.

“I can’t sleep,” she whispered back. He couldn’t tell if the shake in her voice was real or if he’s imagining it as he pressed another wet kiss to her temple. 

“Whas wrong?” he murmured into her hair. She smelled so good.

It’s almost unreal, how large and green her eyes looked in the light when she glanced at him, and he thought maybe he’s dreaming all this.

_ Wouldn’t be the first time. _

“Nothing,” she told him quietly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Go back to bed.”  

“You,” he managed, feeling heavy on his feet. His shoulders drooped forward.

Knife paused over the bowl of icing, she turned and pushed up to kiss him softly. 

“I’ll be in inna minute, ok?” she murmured, eyes wandering over his face.

“Susan.” He stroked his fingers through her long, dark hair. Miles and miles of dark hair.

She hummed a laugh; he could feel it vibrate under his skin. “Look at you, sleepy bunny. You can’t keep your eyes open.”

_ Sleepy bunny? _

“Go,” she whispered. “I’ll be there before you know it.”

“Gonna ride yah,” he told her before stealing another sloppy kiss. 

“Hm, ok killer,” she smiled as they pull apart. 

He dragged himself back to bed, dropping like a sack of rocks onto the mattress and pulling the covers up around his shoulders as he settled in to wait for her. In a minute, the music stopped - the silence seemed to press in around him as he drifted back to sleep.

____________________________________________________________________________

His alarm went off at six; she’s the first thing on his mind as he sat up with a groan and rubbed the grit out of his eyes.

Sure enough, she’s tucked up against his side, sleeping soundly. He strained to hear the pitched eighties pop music over her soft, breathy snores - there was nothing but the sound of the coffee pot brewing on its timer and a lorry collecting rubbish up the street.

_ Was a dream. _

He cleared his throat and called softly, hoarsely, “Susan?”

Nothing. 

Shifting onto his side, he peeled the covers back to bare her smooth, pale shoulder. “Susan?”

“Mm-nmm.” She swatted lightly at him, nestling deeper into the covers.

“Sleep,” he gruffed in her ear before dropping a kiss on her shoulder. She responded with an awkward  _ pat-pat _ to his face, eyes still closed. 

He tried to remember his dream as the shower heated. Something about music - her music - and cooking. She was cooking something.

A flash of her bare shoulder and the strap of her top rolled down one arm, tit out in his hand and a bowl of chocolate icing streaked across his mind.

_ Kinky. _

He smirked, taking his cock in hand as it started to lengthen and harden. She wouldn’t be up in time to suck him off, so he jerked off under the warm spray of the shower while he imagined fucking her from behind, licking long trails of frosting off her back as she giggled and mewled beneath him. Her ass rippling each time he tapped her cervix, his big, strong hands gripping her hips tightly as she whimpered,  _ Oh God, Tom. Harder. Fuck me harder. Yes... _

He took his time stretching after he toweled off, muscles warm and loose, before he sauntered into the bedroom. She was still burrowed beneath the duvet, dead to the world; he watched the rise and fall of her breathing as he dressed.

_ Odd. _

Usually she was up by now.

He padded into the kitchen, thinking he’d have a smoke and a couple of toasts with margarine before he pulled on his boots, when he spotted it sitting in the middle of the breakfast counter.

A four-layer chocolate cake.

“Well, son of a bitch.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Morning,” she croaked, shuffling out of their bedroom in a robe and her house shoes. She reached up to smooth her hair back from her eyes as she yawned.

“Look who’s up an’ about,” he sneered around a mouthful, stretching over the breakfast counter to drop his fork in the sink. It clattered loudly as he stood off his stool and belched.

“What time is it?” she asked hoarsely as she shambled across the living room, hand skimming the back of the sofa to steady herself.

“Time tah go,” he murmured, threading his fingers through her hair and tipping her face up when she stopped in front of him.

She blinked up at him owlishly, her scrubbed face scrunching in confusion. “Go?”

_ Silly girl. _

He stroked his thumb over her cheek, telling her slowly, clearly, “Tah work.”

“What about breakfast?”

“You’ll just ‘ave to fend for yourself,” he smirked, savoring her annoyed huff.

“Your breakfast.”

“‘ad mine already.” He jerked his head back at the counter. 

She leaned to peer around his bulk, head cocking cutely to one side as she processed what she saw: a chocolate cake with a sizable chunk eaten straight out of it, a bone from last night’s leftover pork chop, and an open carton of milk.

“For Pete’s sake,” she grumbled thickly as she got the picture, resting her head tiredly on his chest.

“What?” His lips twitched to hide a grin. 

She gave him a look from under her fringe. It was half-exasperation half-exhaustion; whatever effect she was going for was ruined by another yawn.

“Gotta go,” she managed, eyes watering as she blinked and smoothed her hands over his pullover. “You’re gonna be late.”

“You go back tah bed,” he told her, running his fingers through her hair again.

“Aye aye, captain,” she nodded, closing her eyes and tipping her chin up. 

He offered her his cheek, murmuring smugly, “Tell me” as he accepted his goodbye kiss. 

He liked hearing her say it, in the mornings when she saw him off, on his mobile when she called to ask him something, between her thick thighs, his hips pumping against hers and his nose pressed into her neck as she panted it into his ear.

_ I love you. _

“I love you, Tom.” She gave him another look - this time it was affection mixed with a tinge of anxiety as she breathed, “Be careful out there, ok?”

He smirked. “All the time.”

_ Doubtful, _ her look said. 

“Lock it behind me,” he called as he shut the door after him.

____________________________________________________________________________

At nine o’clock that evening, he tried the door to his flat - the chain lock caught in its latch.

He smiled.

_ She’s home. _

“Susan?”

He heard her bright, “Coming!”, then a few beats later, the scratch and clink of the chain. 

“Welcome home, Tom!” she chirped as he stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was the smell; it smelled like a pastry shop. The second thing he noticed was she’s dusted in something - flour or sugar, he couldn’t tell. It transferred onto his dark street clothes as she pressed herself against him and stretched up to kiss him hello.

She tasted like dessert and spearmint gum.

“What you been up to?” he rumbled, slightly suspicious as he eyed the thin smudge of yellow cream on her cheek. It looked like lemon curd.

An investigative lick proved him right, earning him a disgusted, “Ugh - Tom!”

She cringed, pushing out of his arms as she scolded, “I told you:  _ don’t _ lick my face.”

“Thought that was just after I eat you out,” he smirked. A waft of heat hit him full-on; the flat was broiling hot.

And spanking clean, he noticed, catching the gleam in the linoleum tiles of the entryway.  

His face scrunched in irritation as he shrugged off his leather jacket. “Susan, I’ve told you fifty times - yah can’t crank the ‘eat like that, sweet’eart. I’m not a fuckin’ millionaire.”

“I didn’t; it’s the oven,” she backchatted, tossing him a dirty look over her shoulder as she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and retreated into the kitchen. 

He made to follow her, then stopped dead in his tracks.

“Jaysus wept - yah feedin’ an army or somefin’?”

His breakfast counter was crowded with desserts: there was the four-layer chocolate cake from this morning, and another, smaller one next to it. It was covered in white icing, with decorative lines and a piped border around it and sliced strawberries piled high on its top. Rows and rows of cookies shaped like little shells marched in straight lines across two large wire racks, and beside them were at least a dozen muffins on a paper-lined tray, each the size of his fist. 

“What?” she asked, eyes round and innocent as she braced her hands on the other side of the counter and shrugged casually. “I was feeling Julia Child today.”

There was something off in the way she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, but he was too stunned by the sheer quantity of desserts to put his finger on it. 

Instead he asked, “Whassit?” as he waved his hand over the items.

She brightened, dimples out as she pointed excitedly to the large layer cake. “That’s a dark chocolate cake with ganache, this-” she indicated the smaller, strawberry-topped cake, “is a madeira wedding cake with strawberry jam filling and buttercream icing-”

He wasn’t sure which he found quirkier: the frilly shit she’d made or her delight as she prattled on about them.

His Suzy was a strange bird, alright.

“Ooo, and these are Meyer lemon  _ madeleines _ ,” she said with a French flair. “They have lavender in them, and a thin lemon-sugar glaze… Those are raspberry muffins - just something I whipped up while I waited for the curd to set-”

His brow furrowed as he scanned the desserts. “Curd?”

She waved her hand at the dining table, where there was more he hadn’t noticed: rows upon rows of rectangular paper cups with crisp accordion edges.

“Miniature lemon bars!” she sang.

“Mary bleedin’ Magdaline, Susan.” He looked from the counter to the table to her in a loop. “D’you leave any flour left for the rest a’London?”

She blew her bangs out of her eyes and blinked at him. “No.”

At another glance, he noticed the rest of the flat is spic-and-span; she’d swept the carpet, wiped the coffee table, even smoothed and straightened the cushions on the sofa. 

“Yah been busy,” he nodded, flabbergasted. He propped his hands on his hips, trying to ignore the wave of warmth that washed over him as he pictured her humming to herself while she puttered about his flat, cleaning and baking.

Like a wife. 

The thought made his chest ache, and he couldn’t tell if it was pleasant or not, so he tossed his jacket over the back of the sofa and asked, “What’s for dinner?”

She tensed, giving him a deer-in-headlamps look as she parroted, “What’s for dinner?” Chewing her bottom lip, she glanced around the kitchen as she confessed, “I kind of, ah… forgot.”

Heat zinged through his gut at her nervous, wide-eyed expression. The urge to box her in - to see her lashes flutter and hear her swallow and feel her pulse beat a rapid  _ tatta-tat-tat _ under his thumb - rose inside him. 

“What’d you eat?” he rumbled, stalking slowly around the counter. She blushed prettily, unconsciously shifting back towards the fridge.

Hands wringing lightly, she admitted in a small voice, “Oh, you know. Just… some cookies and a few... lemon… bars…” she trailed off as her ass bumped against the counter.

He pressed himself against her.

“Been nibblin’, ‘ave you?” he smirked, planting his hands on the counter, caging her with his muscular arms.

“I’m, ah, just a teensy bit anxious,” she defended softly, avoiding his eyes again as she smoothed her hands up his forearms and squeezed his biceps. He didn’t miss the trembling in her fingertips, or the way her eyes wandered over his broad barrel chest.

“About?” he asked, dipping his head to catch her eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers. From this angle, he could see her tits down the neckline of her shirt. 

“Oh, you know - this and that,” she hedged, concentrating on the button of his pullover as she plucked at it. 

“Can you give an example?” he pressed dryly, not wild about the way she was acting. Flustered he liked - got him cooking for her faster than anything else - but distant? 

He didn’t like distant at all.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she whispered, eyes large and bright as they met his.

He straightened, ignoring the pinch in his chest as he clenched his jaw and shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Taking a breath, she forced a smile and asked in a brighter tone, “Want me to make you some eggs and toast?”

His head tilted side-to-side as he pretended to consider it. “If yah like. But I was thinkin’...”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re  _ anxious _ ,” he deepened his tone, catching her wrists firmly in his hands. “Might be able tah ‘elp with that.”

“How?” she breathed, tracing the lines in his face with that glossy-eyed look she got when she was fragile.

_ So fuckin’ beautiful. _

“I’ll show you,” he murmured, taking both her wrists in one large hand and reaching back behind him.

There it was - that sound as she gulped. “Tom-”

“Whatcha want, sweet’eart?” He worked his pair of Metro-issued handcuffs out of the waistband of his jeans. Her eyes slid from his to the cuffs and back as he held them up to show her. “Tell me.”

“I want-” Her breath caught in her throat, tongue darting out to wet her lips before she whispered softly, “I want Sergeant Brant.”

He smiled, all teeth and no warmth. She was the only person in the world who ever looked relieved to see that smile. “Thought yah might.”

She let out a long shuddering breath, shoulder blades dropping down her back as she watched him slowly snap one cuff around her wrist, then the other; they made a loud metallic  _ click _ as they locked. He checked to make sure they weren’t too tight before he raised her arms and looped them over his head, feeling the cool metal press into the back of his neck. 

“Sergeant,” she mewled when he threaded his fingers through the hair at her nape. He tugged firmly, relishing the way her head dropped back into his waiting hand and her eyelids fluttered and hooded until they’re almost closed.

“‘ello, sweetheart.” He tugged again, feeling her body start to go slack against his. “Miss me?”

She gave him a small smile - the first real one he’d seen from her all day. “All the time.” 

He smirked as he dipped his head to kiss her.


	3. Chapter 3

“Uhn-huhn…”

“Like that?” he growled over the hollow  _ slap-slap-slap _ of his pelvis against her ass. His balls swung back and forth as he fucked her, knocking the insides of her slick thighs. 

Pressing her hips back to meet him, she sucked her tongue and moaned, “So deep…”

“S’not what I asked,” he snarled, picking up his pace. He could feel the head of his cock butt her cervix each time he bottomed out, her whole body rippling with the force of it.

“Uh-uhn!”

“I asked you,” he enunciated clearly through gritted teeth, taking her by the hips and pulling her into his thrusts as he pumped harder. “Do you like that?”

“Yes!” she wailed, hands fisting in the sheets as she pressed her shoulders deeper into the mattress and hiked her ass up even higher. There was a desperate pitch in her voice, like a sob, and she was almost hyperventilating as she gasped and gulped for air. 

He slapped her hard on the asscheek; it jiggled wildly as the other rippled steadily in time with his thrusts. “Yes what?” he asked sharply, mouth pressed into a tight line.

“Yes, Sergeant Brant! Oh God - harder… plea-ease har-der-er…”

He raised his arm to wipe the sweat off his brow onto his bicep before he ratcheted up his grip on her sweat-slicked hips and pounded into her harder, faster. 

She keened into the pillows, cunt clenching around him as she babbled something he couldn’t make out.

He was snorting and snarling, because she liked when he did and because he was having a hard time catching his breath as her body jerked beneath his, glistening with the drops of sweat that dripped off him onto her ass and her back. The mattress springs creaked, headboard tapping out a steady rhythm as he beat into her, her cunt making obscene wet sounds and her belly flapping softly against her thighs.

His lungs were on fire, chest painfully tight and eyes glued to the sight of his thick cock pistoning in and out of her. He spread her asscheeks wide, watching her cunt stretch to take him over and over and over-

“I wanna come,” he realized she was whining. She was looking at him over her shoulder, mouth open in a pant, face flushed and damp and her fringe sticking to her forehead. Her body had started to shake under his, and her breath catching as she pleaded, “Please- I wan-wanna come…”

“Tell me, Goddamnit!” he snarled back at her, baring his teeth and digging his fingers into her as he dragged her back to meet each stroke.

“Love- I love-” she sobbed; the metal of the handcuffs clinked together as she tugged desperately at the bedsheets. “Love you, Sergeant Br- oh God - love you s-so much...”

He stretched out a hand, catching a thick handful of her long, dark hair and pulling her up off the bed, until her elbows locked beneath her and her head tipped back as far as it could. She was babbling incoherently, her whole body tense as he folded over her, his face twisting savagely as he growled straight into her ear, “Give it tah me, girl. Come on and give it tah me.”

Two more brutal strokes and she came, shuddering violently and wailing. Her cunt clamped down on him like a vice.

He choked out a strangled, “Jaysus wept-” as she collapsed, belly tucking in on top of her thighs and shoulders touching the mattress again. 

Trembling, she panted and mewled his name as he gentled his thrusts. “Serge-uhn- Sergeant Brah- mmn, Brant...”

“Easy,” he rasped, feeling like he could breathe again as he stroked his fingers down her spine and smoothed his hands over her ass. He slowed his tempo, watching her body rock back-and-forth with his long, smooth strokes, her eyes closed and face relaxed into that blissed-out look she got whenever he gave her a good, hard ride.

The sight of her ached, a searing sort of burn in his chest, as he slowed to a stop. She winced a little when the thick head of his cock caught on her tight ring as he pulled out, trailing thin tendrils of slick and precum from the mouth of her cunt. He watched them drip onto her thighs and the blankets as his cock bobbed.  

“Turn over,” he told her quietly, with a gentle  _ pat-pat _ on her hip.

She nodded.

He helped her onto her side, slotting himself in behind her as he caught the underside of her knee in the crook of his elbow and lifted. She turned her head, looking first at her foot dangling above the bed, and then over her shoulder at him, her big green eyes hooded and unfocused. 

“Everything feels so real,” she whispered to him dreamily as his cock slid along her soft, slick thigh to rub between her folds.

He found her entrance, pressing firmly into her cunt and smirking as her eyes closed again and her head tipped back against his shoulder. 

“Uhhn-”

“That feel real too, sweet’eart?” he panted hotly into her ear before he dipped his head to kiss her neck.

“Yes,” she whimpered, the center of her brow creasing lightly as he started to thrust in long, hard strokes. Her hands came up, still bound by his handcuffs, to touch his face. “You’re so big, baby. Feels so good.”

He worked her up again, lying on his side behind her, her leg draped over his arm as he rubbed her clit with his thumb and fucked her nice and slow. Her back slid along his chest and abs, breasts and belly bouncing softly each time he tapped her cervix.

“Oh God,” she moaned, stroking little circles into his scalp as he dragged her back to the edge of climax. 

“You gonna come for me?” he murmured, mouthing the tender spot right behind her ear.

“Mm, mm-hm,” she nodded. Her eyes moved behind her eyelids, fingers circling faster and faster as she tensed against him. “So-oo good…. don’t stop. Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop-”

She shuddered as she came, cunt pulsing around him as she made sweet mewling and huffing sounds. 

He closed his eyes, pressing his nose into her neck and into her hair as he hiked her leg higher, thrusting deeper. His pelvis and the tops of his thighs were soaked in her slick, the muscles in his arms and back shaking as his gut tensed almost painfully.

“Come on, baby,” she whispered, the cool metal of the cuffs pressing into his cheek as she stroked her fingers tenderly along the curve of his scalp. He could feel her breath on his face as she coaxed, “Come in me, baby. I wanna feel you come inside me…”

He came with a sharp, huffed “Ha-ah!”, holding himself inside her as his cock pumped and jerked until he was spent. 

He slipped his arm out from under her knee, carefully dropping her leg on top of the other, his softening cock still inside her. She nestled back into him, her head under his chin as his arm came over her big, soft belly, tucking his hand underneath her.

“Still nervous?” he murmured into her hair, letting his eyelids droop closed as the last of the tension in his body seeped away.

“Nervous?” she cooed back, sounding half-gone and thoroughly satisfied. 

He smirked to himself.  _ Well done, mate. _

“Nevah mind, then.”

It wasn’t until he heard a metallic tinkle that he remembered the handcuffs.

_ Shit. _

“I’ll get the key, alright?” He felt too warm and heavy to get up, but she shouldn’t sleep in those-

He heard her sleepy, “Got it”, and then a dull  _ thunk _ on the duvet. Cracking open an eye to peer over her shoulder, he spotted the cuffs lying open on the bedspread beside her.

_ This girl... _

He grinned lazily against her shoulder. “‘ow’dya do that, Houdini?”

“I was a spy,” she yawned, tucking her hand under her belly, over his, and lacing their fingers together.

____________________________________________________________________________

If he thought he’d put her problem to rest that night, he was dead wrong. 

Two weeks later, and she was still compulsively baking. Every evening, he found her working away when he came home, chewing her lip and avoiding his eyes as she dusted and rolled and kneaded and proofed. He’d asked her - begged her, even - to tell him what the  _ fuck _ was going on.

_ Nothing, _ she insisted every time, voice cracking and fingers twisting as she tugged at her hair and at his shirt and at his heart.  _ Nothing nothing nothing- _

The real bitch of it was, he couldn’t concentrate long enough to drag it out of her. Because the minute he tried, she’d take off her clothes and get on her hands and knees - on the bed, on the rug, on the kitchen floor - and beg him to ride her. 

Her fingers sliding along the damp crease in her panties, looking back at him over her shoulder with those big green eyes and parted lips, whining,  _ Please Sergeant Brant. I’ve been such a bad girl. I need you to teach me a lesson. _

And he fell for it. Every fucking time, God help him.

She was killing him.

He shook his head, trying to shake off the image of her head tipped back, his finger marks on her pale hips as she panted,  _ God, Sergeant - fuck me harder-  _ before he hauled himself up into the back of the armoured van with a grunt.

He heard Nash’s stiff, “What on God’s green Earth are yah doin’ Brant?” from the street behind him.

“Whassit look like?” he sneered back, ignoring the whispers and snickers from the other squad members. He pawed through piles of gear, tossing aside knee pads and plexi shields until he found what he was looking for: a kevlar vest with  _ DS Brant _ scribbled on the inside label. 

He hopped out of the back of the van, landing heavily on the asphalt as he started unbuckling the straps.

“Safety first, aye Gov?” a young PC already suited up in his gear heckled from what he thought was a safe distance.

“Yah wanna puck, Williams?” Tom asked conversationally without looking up from his vest snaps.

Williams’ eyes widened - he’d seen Tom give a pimp a  _ puck _ last week in Interview Room Two. It was a hard punch to the throat; the pimp had gasped and sputtered, barely enough breath left in him to admit to beating his trick half-to-death before he passed out. 

“N-no, Serge,” he stammered as all the PCs standing in his group took a mighty step backwards, away from him.

“Then belt it, yah li’le cocksucker,” Tom growled as he shrugged into his vest. He spared Williams a hard glance. “Understand?”

“Understood,” Williams nodded, retreating with the rest of the group around the side of the riot van.

Tom caught the amused twinkle in Nash’s eye as he wrestled with his clips. “What?”

“Nothing,” Nash assured him lightly, slipping his slender hands into the pockets of his slacks. His own vest hung off his slight shoulders. “Just nice to see yah following protocol for once.”

Tom snorted, managing to get the first two buckles near his chest snapped in before he started to wrench at the ones around his waist. “Protocol my arse.”

“Ah, I see. Would this be about her, then?” Nash asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth like he already knew the answer.

_ Wanker. _

Without looking at him, Tom gruffed, “S’how ‘e died, innit? ‘er bloke. Two to the chest.” He strained to make his clips meet, huffing as he admitted, “Said she wouldn’t stop worrin’ til I promised to wear it.”

“Can’t ‘ave that, can we?” Nash grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Piss off,” Tom snarled, a bit breathless. “What the bloody- one a’these pissants tightened my straps-”

He lost a strap; it zipped back around him, swinging behind his back as he fumbled for it. “Come on, yah fuckin-”

Nash stepped up. “Let me-”

“Ho, boyo!” Tom jabbed out a hand, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You tryin’ tah take advantage of the situation?”

Nash held up his hands. “Fine. You manage it, then.”

After the third failed attempt to catch his strap with his fingertips, Tom nodded and made a motion,  _ Come on then.  _

“Grab my arse,” he warned darkly as Nash started to reach around him. “And I’ll clock yah.”

“I’ll do my best to restrain myself,” Nash promised dryly.

“‘ere’s your problem,” he hummed, brow furrowed as he concentrated on working a little more slack into the strap. “It’s too tight.”

“S’what I said,” Tom’s face scrunched in irritation. “One a’these li’le maggots tightened ‘em.”

Nash spared him an incredulous glance as he snapped the clips into place. “Oh yes, undoubtedly the only plausible explanation.”

“What?” Tom’s face scrunched in irritation as Nash lengthened the last strap and buckled it securely. “You sayin’ I’ve put on a few?”

“Not at all.” Nash stepped gracefully out of arm’s reach before he tacked on, “I’m sayin’ yah put on a lot, judging from the way those straps cut into yah.”

“Nah,” Tom glanced down at himself. Something suspiciously like self-consciousness streaked through his gut. “Maybe a kilo or two - Suzy’s been bakin’ like she’s stockin’ for armageddon the last couple a’weeks. I’m up to my arse in pies and  _ trifles _ .” He said trifles like it was the nanciest word he’d ever heard. 

He tugged at the neckline of his vest, trying to shrug off the discomfort as he added, “But it ain’t that much.”

“Well yah know how prone bullet-proof plastic is to shrinking,” Nash agreed mildly.

Tom spared him a glower before muttering darkly, “She’s inna real fit lately.”

“Oh?” Nash gave him a sidelong look and inclined his head,  _ Do tell. _

Tom scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing before he tucked his thumbs into the straps around his hips and propped his foot on the bumper behind him. “She’s not talkin’ to me - not like she should. S’like back in the beginnin’.”

His gut twisted as he said that last bit out-loud.

Nash nodded, waiting patiently. 

Tom scuffed the pavement with his steel toe and added gruffly, “All she ever wants is a ride - s’like she can’t stand tah be in the same room with me if I’m not puttin’ it to ‘er.” 

He snorted bitterly. “Sounds like a real problem, aye? A chick who just wants tah cook and fuck - what bloke in ‘is right mind complains about that?”

Nash shrugged noncommittally at that last comment. “Did yah have a row?”

Another snort as Tom sneered, “I wish. Nah, it’s somethin’ different - she’s ‘idin’ somethin’ from me. Somethin’ big.”

Nash took his time inhaling; his hands made a soft sound as he rubbed his palms together. He asked quietly, “What’s your gut tell yah?”

“She’s leavin’ me.” The words were out before they had a chance to form in his mind, like some kind of spoken nightmare - too terrifying to be real. His jaw clenched; he looked down at his boots, at the pavement.

_ She’s leaving me. _

The lines in Nash’s face softened. “Brant-”

“Oi!” Sergeant McPhee, a great hulking beast of a Scottsman, bellowed around the side of the van. “You two girls gonna stand round all day, or are we doin’ this?” 

“Watch it,” Tom growled at him warningly, pushing off the van and working his billy club out of the back of his jeans. He tried to squash the images of Susan and his empty flat out of his mind - and the sick, hollow ache they dredged up - concentrating instead on the loathing he felt for McPhee.

“Wearin’ yer issues, aye boyo?” McPhee boomed, eyeing Tom’s vest.

Tom stepped up, sneering hatefully as he smirked, “Ah yeah, can see why they made you a detective. Your powers of deduction are astonishin’.”

“Bout time. Yah been a real liabili’y.” McPhee’s face split into a mocking grin. “Speakin’ of - ‘ow’s that li’le piece a’yers, Brant?” 

_ How the fuck does he know about Susan? _

Something cold slipped through Tom’s gut as McPhee’s voice dropped low, his smile turning salacious as he assured Tom, “Don’t worry - anythin’ ‘appens to yah, I’ll make sure she’s real come-ferted.”

Tom’s grip tightened so hard on his club it creaked; whatever Nash said was blocked out by the roaring in his ears as he grabbed the front of McPhee’s vest with a snarl.

“Easy, I said!” Nash shouted as he worked himself bodily between the two sergeants, pushing them apart.

McPhee was grinning at Tom like a madman; the adrenaline was pumping so hard through Tom’s veins he thought it would burst through his skin.

“Now yer cookin’, boyo!” McPhee crowed, unperturbed by Tom’s menace as he turned and barked at the rest of the squad, “Look alive, maggots!”

“It’s a shock you two don’t get on better,” Nash sighed wearily, looking between the two of them as McPhee clopped his way to the frontlines, belting some Scottish ballad about claiming another’s true love.

Tom spat in his direction.

Nash pulled his Glock twenty-two from its holster. Nodding to the barricaded entrance of the warehouse, he asked with mock-cheerfulness, “Shall we then?”

Tom licked his teeth and forced a sharp-toothed grin, swathing himself in that malevolent miasma as he gestured grandly. “Ladies first.”


	4. Chapter 4

He was home early - the scrimmage at the warehouse had ended almost as soon as it began. Half the hoodlums had taken each other out in a drug feud before the Met could organize a raid squad; the other half were too stoned on meth laced with opium and bleach to do more than fire their sawed off shotguns at each other and the ceiling as the police stormed.

He’d taken a graze to the shoulder and a hard kick to the ribs; Nash had fretted himself sick until Tom agreed to take the afternoon off.

He was hoping she’d be there as he turned his key in the lock and tested the door. He didn’t meet any resistance; the chain was undone, the door swinging open when he pressed on it.

She was out.

Gut tightening, his breath took on a rasping edge as he strode across his flat to check if her things were still in his drawers and hanging up in his closet.

“Get real, yah silly stupid fuck,” he growled at himself when he saw her clothes neatly folded and hung in their bedroom. He scrubbed his hands over his head.

_She ain’t left._

He decided to hit the shower so he could show off his wounds to her when she got back. Maybe she’d give him a pity-fuck; one of those rides where she laid under him, eyes all soft and wet as she traced his wounds with her fingertips and told him she loved him, he had to promise her he’d be more careful, she’d die if anything happened to him - that sort of thing.

He could be real sweet to her then, when she wasn’t egging him on until he was pounding her for all he’s worth, hanging onto his sanity by his fingernails as his orgasm tried to beat down the door. He could his time dragging those hot little keens and whimpers out of her while he said all the things into her hair he didn’t like to say anywhere else.

Maybe she’d even lie in bed with him after, touching and kissing and talking. Like she used to.

He stood in front of the mirror after he toweled off, taking his mind off of her as he grimaced at the contusions blooming purple and off-center on the bottom of his ribcage.

_Gottcha good._

He checked his profile while he was at it, pulling his shoulders back straight with a wince and eying his abs critically. The lines of his muscles were still defined, but they’d softened a touch, and the dips where his hips were had filled in somewhat.

“Ah Christ,” he breathed, turning to look at himself straight-on. He didn’t know if it was his imagination, but he thought he looked broader, less cut. “Son of a bitch.”

He sucked in his stomach, holding and counting to five before he released with a disapproving cluck of his tongue. _Silly chit’s fattened me up._

He leaned in a little closer to the mirror, inspecting his chest hair closely for greys when he heard her key scratch in the lock.

_Speak a’the devil._

He didn’t bother putting a shirt on before he sauntered into the living room, trying to keep the edge out of his tone as he rumbled, “Where yah been?”

“Tom!” she gasped, startled. She nearly lost the sacks she was carrying. “You scared the bejesus out of me. What’re you doing home?”

She tried to peer over the shopping, noticing the fresh bandage on his shoulder as he used his good arm to scoop up her load. “What happened?”

“S’nothin’,” he sniffed, making a show of nonchalantly shrugging his injured shoulder. He clamped his jaw to hide a wince and smirked. “‘ardly a scratch.”

“Did you get shot?” she breathed as something slipped out from under her arm and dropped to the carpet. A manilla folder, he realized as her papers made a soft whooshing sound, scattering in all directions.

He barely had time to register she was wearing a suit and blouse before she pressed her hand tenderly over his wound and repeated, “Did you get shot?”

“Nah,” he lied to her face. “Switchblade - some kid ‘opped up on whatevah shit they’re cookin’ up in the tub these days. I tell yah, I miss the eighties. Least you could name the drugs.”

She spared him a thin smile as she cupped the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss, the paper sacks crunching lightly between them.

He smirked as they pulled apart, some of the doubt coiled in his stomach starting to unwind at the worried look on her face.

_She loves me._

He glanced into the shopping and noticed the enormous bar of chocolate tucked into one of the sacks.

“What’dya buy?” he asked, feeling a streak of irritation as he took a closer look and found a bag of flour and two cartons of whipping cream.

“Supplies,” she answered, sounding a little distant. One of her papers crinkled beneath her high heel.

That seemed to snap her out of it; she bent over quickly to pick up her paperwork.

“Yah get any meat?” he gruffed, rounding the breakfast bar and hiking the sacks onto the counter. The irritation became full-fledged annoyance as he pawed through them, finding nothing but fruits and nuts and chocolate pieces.

“Hm?” She stood, tapping her paperwork on the breakfast counter.

“Meat,” he repeated loudly. “Did yah get any meat?”

“Wha- no. Whoops!” she tittered nervously, tucking her papers back into her folder and her folder into her purse. She took her purse into the bedroom, calling over her shoulder, “I forgot!”

He followed her with his eyes, shaking his head before he snapped, “What the fuck are we gonna eat then? More cake? Jaysus wept, Suzy - yah can’t keep on like this.”

There was no answer from the bedroom.

She was ignoring him.

Furious, he smacked his hand on the counter and barked, “Susan, Goddamnit, I’m talkin’ to yah!”

Nothing.

Mouth pressing into a tight line, he started around the breakfast bar, ready to corner her if it came to it, when he noticed something out of his peripheral. Lying on the tile in the entryway. Slim, like a wallet, only a little larger.

Something she’d dropped.

Glancing at the bedroom door, he came quietly around the counter, breath high in his chest as he crossed the living room and stooped to pick up whatever it was. A part of his brain registered what he was holding before he opened it; the rest steeped itself in denial as his chest tightened and the tips of his fingers went numb. Fumbling with the cover, he flipped it open and all the air went straight out of his lungs.

It was a passport.

“Tom?”

He jerked, turning awkwardly to stuff the book into his back pocket on the side facing away from her. His shoulder pulled painfully and he grunted, wincing.

“Tom-”

“I’m fine,” he snapped as he stood.

She’d been crying; her eyes were red-rimmed and there were tear tracks all down her cheeks as she sniffled.

“Ok.” She held up her hands. “Ok, I’m sorry. About the groceries. I- I didn’t remember the list…”

She trailed off as he shouldered past her, heading for the bedroom. “Tom?”

“Where- where are you going?” she blinked, looking dazed as he came back out in his tee shirt and Doc Martins.

“To the station,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes as he knelt to tie his laces. He couldn’t make himself look at her as he swiped his jacket off the back of the sofa and his keys off the breakfast bar.

“Wait, wait a second!” She followed him to the front door, catching him by the wrist and tugging. “What about your shoulder-”

“Leave it,” he snarled, wrenching himself out of her grip.

She recoiled like he’d slapped her, eyes wide and hands clenching into fists at her sides as she snapped back, “What the heck is your problem, Tom?”

“Wanna know what my _problem_ is?” he spat, sneering as he reached for the door handle. “I’m lookin’ at it, aren’t I?”

“Me?” she blustered, trying to catch the door as he closed it behind him. “Hey, buddy-”

“Piss off!” he growled, slamming it shut in her face. He fumbled for his house key, fingers trembling, when he heard her lock it herself, snapping the deadbolt into the strike and dragging the chain across its lock with a furious, “Rude son of a bitch-”

He stalked down the hall, mashing the _Down_ button on the lift panel with his jaw clenched so hard it creaked. He watched the numbers above the doors light up one-by-one, breathing harshly through his nose as he tried not to picture her packing.

“Come on, Goddamnit!” he snapped, pounding the lift door with his fist.

One way or another, he was going get to the bottom of this.

____________________________________________________________________________

He took the Benz to the station.

The metal arm at the guard post was barely two-thirds raised as he peeled into the parking garage, braking across two handicapped spaces near the lift and throwing the car in _Park_.

He went straight to the canteen; his face split into a malevolent smirk when he spotted what he was after.

“Bonds!” he barked from the entrance. A new WPC sitting at a table with Falls, smiling and chatting as she ate her danish, jumped.

“Sir?” she chirped, tangling her feet in the legs of her chair and nearly toppling sideways as she rushed to stand at attention.

He jerked his thumb behind him. “Bullpen, now.”

Even from across the room, he could see her gulp. “S-sir?”

“Are yah deaf, girl?” he enunciated clearly through gritted teeth.

Falls’ chair scraped loudly against the yellowed linoleum floor as she stood. “You sit,” she said warmly to Bonds, before turning and telling him tersely, “I’m comin’.”

“Come on, then,” he sneered congenially, gesturing for her to walk in front of him.

She spared him an up-and-down look as she passed, face scrunching in annoyance. “What crawled up your arse?”

“Belt it if yah don’t want my foot up yours,” he snapped, glaring around the empty bullpen for witnesses before he took her by the back of her uniform shirt and marched her to his desk.

“Ease-y!” she hollered, twisting out of his grip as he dragged his chair out from under his desk and pointed to his seat. “Jesus, Gov - get a fuckin’ grip, alright?”

“Sit down and type,” he told her.

“You’ve _got_ to be jokin’.” She looked between him and his computer in disbelief. “Brant, ‘ow many times I tell yah, you gotta learn-”

“Falls-” he ground out dangerously, mouth tightening into a thin line, _“Sit_ your boney Black arse in this chair and type like you mean it, or God so ‘elp me-”

“Christ alive,” she dropped into the chair, leaning away and eying him warily as she wiggled the mouse on its pad. His computer blinked out of sleep-mode.

“Crazy redneck pig,” she muttered under her breath.

He ignored the way she tensed as he braced one hand on the back of the chair and planted the other on his desk, next to the keyboard. “I need to find an itinerary or a visa-”

“A visa?”

“Yeah, for someone leavin’ the country.” He watched her open a window and direct her mouse to a search field at the top of the screen.

“Any idea where they’re goin’?” she asked, fingers poised over the keys.

His face pinched as he realized he’s not even sure where she’d go. “No.”

 _Everythin’s comin’ apart_.

“Yah want me to look up all open visas?” she asked slowly. “Yah got a monf to go frough it, then?”

She jumped as he smacked his hand on the table and snarled low, “Really not the time tah get fresh with me, Falls. Yah understand what I’m sayin’?”

She swallowed, nearly falling over the opposite arm of the chair as she leaned away from him.

“Alright, alright. You gotta name, Brant?” _Let’s take it easy,_ her tone said. “A passport number, an airline? Anythin’ like that?”

He bowed his head.

_Might as well tell ‘er._

Looking back up at the screen, he concentrated on the cursor blinking in the search box as he tossed out, “Fairfax. Elaine.”

“O-kay.” She typed quickly, tapping the _Enter_ key and sitting back as she waited for the information to load. “Elaine Fairfax, requested re-entry to America August fourteenth- what?” She did a double-take when she spotted the passport photo on the top left of the screen, squinting to make it out.

She was wearing a short blonde wig and glasses, but it didn’t take Falls long to recognize-

“That’s Susan.” She looked back at Tom over her shoulder, hand still holding the mouse as she repeated, “That’s Susan.”

Requested re-entry.

_Son of a bitch._

“S’wonder yah can’t pass your exams,” he sneered cruelly.

She reeled from that, blinking up at him with a hurt look before she shot back, “S’wonder she’s leavin’ yah.”

That kicked like a punch in the gut; he had to push off the desk and put some distance between them while he wrestled with the urge to snap her scrawny neck.

“Susan.” Falls propped her elbows in front of his keyboard and dropped her head in her hands, taking a long inhale.

After a beat, she folded her arms in front of her and asked quietly, “Why’s she leavin’?”

“Dunno,” he snapped, trying to rub out the sharp buzz between his eyes with his thumb. “S’what I came to find out.”

He worked her passport out of his pocket, coming to stand at the end of his desk as he slapped it down in front of Falls. “She came back this afternoon - dunno where she was or who she saw - wearin’ a suit and carryin’ papers.” He pointed at the book. _“That_ was in ‘em.”

_August fourteenth._

That was last week.

He was behind the game, in every possible sense.

_She’s slippin’ through your fingers._

“Did you ask ‘er about it?”

“No.”

“Brant,” Falls sighed wearily. “Yah gotta talk to ‘er.”

He gave her a mocking look, eyebrow quirked. “Oh? You a marriage therapist now?”

It didn’t really register - what he’d just said - until she parroted back at him, “Marriage?”

_Bollocks._

“You’re gettin’ married?” she asked with a blank expression.

“S’that what it looks like?” he sneered, glancing meaningfully at the computer screen.

“But you asked ‘er?” she pressed, face still slack with shock.

He reached inside his jacket, throat working around the hard pinch at its base as he dug something out of his pocket. He dropped it unceremoniously onto his desk, beside her passport.

A ring box.

Before he could blink, Falls snatched it up; it creaked softly as she popped it open.

“Jesus,” she gasped, tracing the edges of the ring with her fingertip.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to ignore the searing burn in his chest as he propped himself on the desk beside her and folded his arms.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered up at him, wide-eyed. “Really - stunnin’.”

He nodded, smacking his lips before he told her, “Cost me a’couple a bobs.”

She was silent for a moment - there was no sound in the empty bullpen except a phone ringing off its hook at someone else’s desk.

Then she clucked her tongue, “Brant,” and pushed up onto her feet, her long arms folding around him and squeezing him in a hard hug.

“Come off it,” he gruffed, trying to shake her off.

She clung to him tighter. “Yah big stupid arse.” When she stepped back, still holding onto his biceps, he saw her eyes are wet. “You’re such a loony, Brant.”

“Loony?” he snorted with a mirthless smile. “Yah wanna see loony - wait til I find ‘er flight.”

And who she’s meeting when she get there.

Falls laughed at that, a wet, boyish sound. “Yeah, alright tough guy.”

She wiped at her face, sniffling loudly and rubbing the back of her hand on her uniform pleats. “Look: you love ‘er, and God ‘elp ‘er, she loves you. I seen it-” She held up a hand as he started to cut her off. “I seen the way she looks at you. She loves you, Brant. Trust me, I’m a woman. We know these fings.”

“Yah just gotta get outta your own way for once in your fuckin’ life, yeah?” Her face softened as she chided, “Go ‘ome and sort it wif ‘er, like a man, stead a’runnin’ round ‘ere like one a’them creeps wif a restrainin’ order or somefin’.”

He rubbed his fingers in the seam of his lips and over his chin, studying her face for a beat. Then he nodded. “Yeah, alright.”

Shrugging her hands off his arms with what he hoped was a roguish smirk, he added, “Drop the bleedin’ ‘earts act ‘fore my nuts rot off, will yah Falls?”

She snorted a laugh at that in spite of herself. “What’s she see in yah, anyway?”

The corners of his mouth twitched downward as he considered it. “Likes big cocks, I wager.”

“Ah, Jesus,” she cringed in revulsion.

He winked and gave her hearty _pat-pat._


	5. Chapter 5

He felt like shouting with relief when the door to his flat caught on the chain lock.

She was still here.

 _For now, at least,_ he thought before calling quietly, “Susan?”

He caught a glimpse of her through the thin sliver between the door and its frame and felt her press the door closed to undo the latch.

The door creaked as it opened, revealing her standing in the doorway, wearing a sweater and those soft exercise pants she liked. Her long dark hair was pulled over her shoulders, her big green eyes staring up at him.

He didn’t overthink it as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and gathered her up in his arms, losing himself in her softness as he buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply.

She nuzzled hers into his chest, fingers curling in his shirt as she whispered, “Tom.”

His chest squeezed, eyes clenching shut as he stroked his large hand over her hair and tried not to picture Molly, her face full of hate and regret, or Sally, her big brown eyes so impossibly sad.

_Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me-_

“Don’t leave me.”

“Wha-”

The grief was choking him, welling up in his throat and blocking out all the air as he sank to his knees in front of her.

“I’m beggin’ yah, Susan-” He took her hands in his, trying to anchor her here, to him. “Don’t leave me. Whatever it is - whatever yah want - I can change it. I swear; give me a chance and I’ll change it-”

“Tom,” her hands squeezed his as she blinked down at him, flabbergasted. “What are you talking about?”

“I found this-” He reached around behind him and worked her passport out of his back pocket. Holding it up to her, he cleared his throat and gruffed, “I know you’ve made arrangements-”

She closed her eyes, her hand still in his as she sighed, “Oh Tom.”

“I’m not mad,” he insisted urgently, jiggling her hand in his. “I was, but I’m not. I’m really not. Susan, I don’t wanna lose you-” His face creased in pain as he stared up at her, willing her to stay with him. To love him. “I love you.”

“Oh honey-” Her breath caught in her throat as she squeezed his hand again, the other tenderly stroking over his head and along his jaw. “Come here.”

He rose, knees popping, and buried his face in her neck as she took him into her arms.

“I’m not leaving you,” she murmured, rubbing his back comfortingly. She kissed his neck, his cheek. “I’m not leaving you.”

His arms cinched around her waist, pressing her breasts and belly into him. She was so warm.

_Susan._

“What about America?” he asked, chest ratcheting tighter as an image of her boarding a plane flashed through his mind.

She sighed again, breath tickling his ear as she sank a little further into his arms. “I didn’t want to tell you-”

He leaned back to look at her. Her eyes were shining in the lamp light. “Tell me what?”

“I’m losing-” She looked helplessly around the entryway. “Everything. Everything,” she repeated, voice cracking.

Something cold slipped through his gut. “What you mean?”

Was someone threatening her?

“I mean _everything,_ Tom. My house, my savings, my retirement - all of it. Gone.” She looked sick.

“How?”

She wormed her way out of his arms, avoiding his eyes as she took a deep breath. “Well, I- The bills, from the hospital? For my shoulder? After the ambulance and the surgery and recovery room - it was a hundred and fifty thousand pounds.”

He jerked. “Jaysus.”

“I know,” she moaned miserably, rounding the arm of the sofa and dropping into the corner. Her shoulders sagged.

“I haven’t worked since-” She looked up at the ceiling as she tried to remember. “October of last year. After-”

“Rick,” he finished for her, taking the other end of the sofa. He came forward, propping his forearms on his thighs as he studied her face.

She nodded, licking her lips to hide the wobble in them. “He’d made a will, way before we ever- He left everything to his first wife, Elaine. She was killed years ago; he never changed his will. I mean, why would he? He- we never talked about those things. We weren’t…” she trailed off when she couldn’t find the words.

“Married,” he finished for her.

She spared him a small, grateful smile. Her face with etched with sadness. “Yes. I couldn't have taken the money anyway; it wouldn’t have been right-” She rubbed her hands on her thighs, shoulders tense as she continued. “I’d just sell the house in DC, but I took out a second mortgage to pay Jerry the equity when we divorced-”

He inhaled sharply at the mention of her ex-husband.

Now there’s a bloke he’d like to meet in a dark alley.

“I’m upside-down; I already cashed my savings to pay for all the flights and hotels and-” She nodded to her passport in his hand. “Fakes. God, I spent a fortune looking for Montair.”

She covered her eyes with her hand. “I’ve been meeting with a lawyer - you guys call them solicitors?”

He nodded, his face softening as all the pieces finally came into place.

_She’s not leavin’ me, then._

“He says I’m screwed.”

He had to twitch his lips to hide a grin. “Lan-guage, madam.”

She snorted. “I’m not even supposed to _be_ here, Tom. I’m an illegal alien-”

“S’that right?” he smirked, relief washing through him despite her problem. “Sounds bit naughty, don’t it?”

“Stah-ahp,” she whined, fighting a smile. One of her dimples winked at him under the apple of her cheek. “This isn’t funny - I’m broke, in debt up to my eyeballs, and I’m an illegal immigrant.”

He grinned. He couldn’t help himself. “Don’t do anythin’ by ‘alf, do yah Susan?”

She gave him a look, _Not funny._

He set her passport on the coffee table and rubbed his hands together, concentrating on them before he met her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Are you kidding, Captain Save-a-Ho?” She gave him a wry half-smile. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d want to you’d rush in and save the day.”

That she thought that, about him, made his chest swell.

_Unbelievable._

She sighed. “I’ve got to let the bank take the house. I have enough in my retirement account to cover the hospital bills, but I can’t work until I have a visa- a _real_ visa-”

“Marry me.”

“I don’t even know what I’d do. Teach again? I haven’t- hold on.” She held up her hand. “Rewind. What?”

He started to sink onto his knee in front of the sofa. “Mar-”

“Whoa-ho no! No no no-” She caught him by the jacket lapels, dragging him bodily back into his seat. “Slow down, Speed Racer-”

His face scrunched in confusion. “Who?”

“Listen, Tom, that’s very sweet.” She shushed him when he tried to cut her off. “Really, I am so- It is very sweet. But that’s _exactly_ why I didn’t want you to find out about this.” Her face softened. “I can handle this, Tom. I know I was crazy - beyond crazy - when we met, but I am finally starting to surface-”

_What the fuck’s she on about?_

“I can figure this out on my own,” she finished, stroking a hand over his face.

He leaned away from her touch, smarting. “I know yah can.”

She smiled, ducking her head to catch his eyes. “I really can. It’s just going to take me some time. And I might have to go back to DC, to talk to the bank and deal with the house. But only for a little while,” she rushed to add. “You’ll see - everything will be A-ok.”

“So you don’t want to get married, is it?”

She shook her head, smiling, _You’re incorrigible._ “Do you, right this red-hot minute?”

His chest pinched.

_Don’t be a fuckin’ coward._

“Yeah,” he told her quietly. “I do.”

The smile slipped off her face. “Oh. Oh. I- I didn’t realize you were-”

She stopped when he reached inside his jacket, working out the ring box he’d shown Falls earlier. He set it on the coffee table, near her end, and sat back, rubbing his hands on his jeans.

“As a ‘eart attack,” he told her.

She looked from him to the box and back again, stunned.

He slung his arm over the back of the sofa, nodding at the box as he asked, “Aren’t you gonna open it?”

“Open it?” she parroted, blinking.

He inclined his head. “S’what I said.”

Tentatively, as if it might snap at her, she plucked it up off the table. She made to open it and then stopped, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him over the box. “Is this a joke?”

He met her eyes. “Couldn’t be further from it.”

She opened the box. “Oh good gravy, Tom.”

He sat back, rubbing his fingers in the seam of his lips and over his chin as he watched her reaction.

Her breath caught; she took the ring gingerly from the box, face soft and sweet as she looked at it closely.

Then she screamed blue murder.

“Jaysus!” he shouted as she launched herself across the sofa, knocking the air out of him as they collided. She kissed him hard, clapping her hands onto his shoulders. It was only when he grunted, wincing as she squeezed his wound, that she pushed up off of him with a breathless, “Sorry! So sorry!”

“Christ alive, gonna kill me ‘fore she even says yes…” he grumbled. But he was grinning.

With a bit of coordinated effort, they got the ring on her finger and her ass in his lap.

_Just ‘ow it should be._

“Well? Yah like it or what?”

“I _love_ it!” she chirped, holding her hand up to the light and turning it this-way-and-that. She beamed at the winking diamond center. “It’s huge.”

“Say that a lot round ‘ere, don’tcha?”

She ignored that, giving him a sly little look out of the corner of her eye instead as she asked lightly, “How many of the jeweler’s children did you threaten to knee-cap?”

“Ease up,” he chided, bouncing her on his knee. He reached up to tuck a bit of hair behind her ear, murmuring softly, “You gonna be my wife?”

“Definitely.” She snatched her ring hand into her lap and covered it with the other. “You’re not getting this back.”

He smirked. “Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is for darling Gadhar, who requested this most especially. I chose the title because I knew the song would get stuck in her head.
> 
> You're welcome, G ;)
> 
> I don't know that I love the way it turned out, but I'm ok with it. Let me know what you think.
> 
> I also wanted to take a moment to say how much I appreciate your comments and kudos. They are like sweet little Valentine's in my inbox all year around.
> 
> Love,  
> Pastel


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